


Victims of Circumstance - 4/20 – The Worth of Words

by motsureru



Series: Victims of Circumstance [4]
Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon, M/M, Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-01-12
Updated: 2008-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-11 17:43:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,049
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/motsureru/pseuds/motsureru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spoilers for Season 1 and Season 2. This is a <b><span>sequel</span> </b>to <i>Any Other Night</i>, which is a <b><span>sequel</span></b> to <i>Broken Glass</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Victims of Circumstance - 4/20 – The Worth of Words

**Author's Note:**

> An enormous amount of thanks to [](http://etoile-dunord.livejournal.com/profile)[**etoile_dunord**](http://etoile-dunord.livejournal.com/), who edits my commas and makes me happy doing it. <3 

**Teaser:** _Mira was reaching out, as a friend, as someone who was once a lover, trying to make an impact on his life, maybe even on his heart, to get what she wanted in a guileful way.  
  
  
_

 

.4  The Worth of Words

 

            Perhaps an hour or more had passed in Mohinder’s absence before Sylar became too frustrated with the emptiness of his room and decided to go searching for companions. It began with covert glances down either side of the hallway, and ended with Sylar poking his head into each of the rooms that lined the way between his and Mohinder’s. He had paused at that bedroom in particular, peeking his head inside to get a look at what kind of man Mohinder had left behind in India.

            Sylar couldn’t say he was terribly surprised at what he found: a regular bed with patterned dark blue designs, a desk next to the window, a dresser to the side of a closet. One wall was lined with two bookshelves side by side, crammed with titles that he dared not step too close to, lest he get lost in Mohinder’s world. The walls had photographs, family and friends, he assumed, but people he knew he would never meet. Especially now, of all times, Mohinder had no interest in letting Sylar into that area of his life. Sylar supposed he might do the same, if he had family or friends to hide. So Sylar stood no further than in the doorway, did not try to take in their faces. He closed the door behind him.

            Sylar continued on down the hallway, finding this empty room and that, until finally a set of double doors stood before him. Even from the outside of those darkly stained pieces of wood Sylar felt he could smell what lay within; he felt a sort of invigorated excitement over what he was sure lay on the other side. Swallowing and straightening his posture as though to step into a church, onto hallowed ground, Sylar reached out with both his hands and grasped the pewter handles, giving a slow pull.

            The scents that met his nostrils were those of his oldest companions: wall after wall was filled with books, old and new, large and small. He had found Chandra’s library, and for an instant he felt that any loneliness he suffered from Mohinder’s animosity might be pacified by the comfort that knowledge had always given him. A smooth smile crossed Sylar’s lips, and he entered the spacious area like a child might walk in awe of grand architecture.

            The library was built like a small atrium, mimicking a circular structure but never quite achieving it. From floor to ceiling was a wealth of bookshelves. A desk and filing cabinet sat right next to the door on the left, where they were least likely to be a distraction, and, similarly, a small couch rest against the wall on the right. A thin ladder with an aged pole for sliding back and forth stood against the wall, and the ceiling was of angled glass that let in the Indian sun. Sylar smiled to see how deceptively large the library appeared to be, though he was sure it didn’t take up much space at all.

            As he stepped forward to one wall and touched the worn spines affectionately, he felt his heart warm, reminded of the apartment he had managed to fill almost unimaginably so with books of all kinds. It had been a shame to so recklessly and quickly vacate such a treasure of knowledge in Queens. Sylar wondered if no one might ever again love these books here in Chandra’s library, simply because the man had gone before they had and disappeared.

            “I see you found my husband’s library.”

            Sylar jumped, startled by his obliviousness to Anjali’s approach. He turned around quickly, placing his hands behind him as though he was a child hiding his guilt. “I-… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snoop. The door was-”

            “Closed,” Mohinder’s mother replied with a smile, shutting it behind herself as she said it, shutting the door on Sylar’s lie that was never quite said.

            Sylar cleared his throat with a small smile. “You caught me. I… guess I miss my books in America. Chan- Dr. Suresh’s collection is quite impressive.”

            “Mohinder thought so too, once,” she said a bit nostalgically, walking slowly into the room, her head turning from side to side, eyes scanning the old surfaces. “You know when he was small he used to come in here while his father worked and pick books off the shelves. Just sit right there on that couch and pretend to read something far too complicated for a child’s mind, imagining he would be able to some day.” Anjali smiled, and Sylar couldn’t help but return it with honest feeling. He could envision a little Mohinder there, all skinny legs and wild curls, with a huge book in his lap on DNA sequencing or microbiology, turning the pages with a dignified look on his face, trying so very hard to be his father.

            “You are not really a person with nothing to say all the time, are you?” Anjali was suddenly asking, drawing Sylar out of his imaginings.

            “How can you tell?”

            Anajli merely smiled again, a smile that did not quite reach her eyes. “I come from a family who bit their tongues to keep from tasting truth for years. I know a thing or two about the unspoken, Gabriel. Mohinder is going quite out of his way to be sure you say little to me.”

            A small smirk made its way across Sylar’s lips. Yes, he did like this woman. Very much so. She was sneaky, in her motherly way, and she was perceptive. She knew how to handle Mohinder after the years, and Sylar couldn’t help but wonder if he might learn how to do so from her as well. But even if he couldn’t, Sylar felt he could still enjoy her just speaking about Mohinder; the name rolled off her tongue in such an elegant way that he envied those able to pronounce it so sensually.

            “I guess it’s no use denying that now. Has he always been this stubborn?” Sylar found himself crossing the room to the other side, leaning against the bookshelf next to the couch and crossing his arms over his chest. He motioned for her to sit, hoping to extend this conversation. It was certainly possible, he felt; she had come after him for information, so the desire must have been mutual.

            “Always,” Anjali replied, straightforward in her words. She walked over to the couch and touched the arm of it as she lowered herself to sit. “And just as he is stubborn, he always thinks he is right, as well.”

            That made Sylar laugh a little to himself, and he covered his mouth with a hand, musing. “Oh yes. I’ve seen that side of him too.”

            “Do you let him get away with it?”

            Sylar’s lips curled into half of a grin which he tried to contain. He shook his head faintly. “Not always.”

            That answer seemed to please Mohinder’s mother. “Then you are good for him. As a friend. Or whatever it is you are,” she added.

            The mirth faded quickly from Sylar’s face, and he stared at Anjali, feeling dread, suddenly. Mohinder would be livid if he knew what his mother had figured out on her own. “Ah… the thing is, Mrs. Suresh-”

            “You know,” she began, cutting off whatever disorderly thoughts struggled to escape Sylar, “I hoped for a long time that Mohinder might marry a nice woman, a respectable woman, like Mira perhaps, who would balance him out, take away his fears of being a father, of having a family. To show him there is more to life than codes and DNA. I hoped he might give me grandchildren to brighten this home that has been dark for so long.” Her eyes trailed down at that, hands folded in her lap and gaze somewhere very distant in the past. “But some men are not meant for that lifestyle. Chandra changed into a man who was not, and I fear Mohinder was always affected by that.”

            Sylar stared at her in silence, unsure of what he should say, or if he should even attempt to interject words that could only be disruptive to her reflections. He chose to say nothing.

            Anjali lifted her eyes once more, looking to Sylar with a sage press of her lips. “But we all need someone to look after us. And it is important that we all change, sometime. I see him growing, Gabriel. I do not have to be around him all the time to see that. And so I feel I can say ‘thank you’ to you. For helping my son. Do not be discouraged by his unwillingness to grow quickly.”

            Staring at this woman who seemed to know the very workings of life itself, Sylar felt suddenly uncomfortable, immature, even. He swallowed and looked down at his feet, searching for words. Was this… a strange form of her blessing on what she seemed to understand about their relationship?

            “Can… I ask you a question, Mrs. Suresh?” Sylar finally said, reaching a hand up to rub the back of his neck as he returned his gaze to her.

            “If you call me Anjali,” she countered easily, eyes bright and focused on his self-conscious stance.

            “Anjali, then,” he nodded. “I was just wondering… why Mohinder and Mira aren’t together, if they’re so well-suited for one another? I’m sure she’s an attractive woman, with a job, as you said, in a genetics laboratory…”

            A touch of a knowing smile crossed Mohinder’s mother’s lips, and she subdued it as best she could. This man, Gabriel, was just as any other lover might be, she thought, worried by and jealous of old flames. He tried not to be obvious, but it seemed in the face of her confidence he couldn’t help but be. “They had a falling out, after Mira told him he was going to be ruined by following in Chandra’s footsteps. She said Chandra’s research was nonsense, and that he was going to take Mohinder down with him. It is a problem they have not properly solved in some four or five years. I think Mohinder still blames himself for turning her words on Chandra before he left for New York.” Anjali said this softly, hints of her sadness for her son and husband’s lost connection seeping to the surface. “In the end, he and Chandra both found their proper places, though. I am happy for them both.”

            There were times when Sylar felt guilt; he had never experienced them before he killed his mother, and he had never experienced them again until after he stayed with Mohinder. But now, talking with this woman, the weight of Chandra’s death fell heavily on his shoulders. Was it a truly meaningless death? Or had he helped Mohinder, in the end, by showing him his true path in life- a path marked in Chandra’s blood? Sylar would have liked to think of it that way, certainly, but the look in this woman’s eyes and the earnestness in her voice made an insuppressible guilt swell in his chest, stealing the breath from his lungs. 

            “May I ask you a question, Gabriel?” Mohinder’s mother interrupted his pensiveness.

            Sylar’s arms tightened across his chest. “Of course.”

            “Two months ago, Mohinder told me he was going to stay in New York to help someone,” she stated, standing carefully from her seat. “Was that person you?” She cautiously omitted the other details Mohinder had given then: that he hated this person he was to help, that this person had done horrible things for which he could not be forgiven, not by Mohinder.

            Brow furrowing at Anjali’s question, Sylar couldn’t help but wonder when exactly Mohinder had made that call home. Even more, he wondered if Mohinder had made the decision with or without her help, before or after his final visit to the hospital to take Sylar away with him.

            “Yes. I am that person.” Sylar cast his eyes to the side, considering the shaky beginnings that had brought them as far as they had. He had once felt he was not invested in the man, but how frighteningly fast that had changed…

            “Then he has come further than I thought,” Mohinder’s mother replied with a private smile. “Well, do not let me continue to cause scandal. It was a pleasure to talk with you, Gabriel.” Anjali nodded politely to him, and with that quietly stepped out of the library, leaving Sylar to his own devices.

            The man stood still, contemplating her words long after he heard her move into a farther hallway. He tilted his head back, dark hair to dark shelves, and stared through the glass of the ceiling at the blue sky and white clouds that hovered so peacefully above him. Sylar wondered if some day Mohinder’s secrets might be his own; perhaps he’d only have to ask to find out. If only he knew how to pose the questions.

 

 

            “I’m so happy you decided to meet with me, Mohinder. It’s been so long.”

            Mira looked as she ever did, elegant, confident, and beautiful. She wore a burgundy sari, one that he had seen many times before. It had always looked good on her, and she knew he thought so. He wondered if it was intentional that she wore it, and then realized it was a silly question. Of course it was intentional. How she looked was one of the things Mohinder noticed immediately— memories of their past always came second to the first impact seeing her had on him— but there was always a subtle catch. He pushed in her chair as she sat, and then moved around the small table and took a seat himself with a half-hearted smile.

            “I wasn’t really sure what you wanted to see me about when my mother said you called. I’m sorry I haven’t been more available.” he apologized simply, glancing up as someone came for their order. Chai for him, coffee for her.

            “Your mother said you were traveling,” Mira replied, voice warm and dark eyes always on Mohinder’s face. His own gaze couldn’t keep steadily on her, not until she leaned forward a little, ducking her head to make herself fall within his sight. “Where did you go to?”

            Mohinder cleared his throat and sat straighter, finally returning her looks. “I was in the states for a while… and then I spent the last month or so in England, taking a friend around the university and some famous spots.”

            “And how is your research?” The question came like a natural inquisition into his daily life, but Mohinder knew it was of more consequence than that. If she knew… would her way of thinking change? Would she cast aside the bitter words she had stood by for so long? If he told her, he could validate everything he and his father had ever worked for… but what did he need to prove to her? Did he need Mira’s approval?

            “It’s… going well.” Mohinder nodded, glancing up as the waiter brought them their drinks. “No major breakthroughs yet, but it looks promising.” Mohinder couldn’t explain to her about Sylar. He couldn’t tell her he’d brought back proof of his father’s work to India, the proof his father had died for. He couldn’t discuss the proof that he took into his bed, for whom ‘the world’s worst pillow talk’ as he had reminisced to her last time they met, was in fact exciting and would always be. Was Sylar somewhere in his house, sitting quietly, reaching his hearing far beyond himself to know this conversation?

            “I see,” Mira replied, tucking a lock of her black hair behind her ear, lashes moving gracefully with the hoods of her eyes, which she lowered before she spoke. “You know… my offer still stands, Mohinder. My job at the genetics lab is going quite well, and our staff…” she trailed off, only to look up again and give a hopeful smile. “Our staff could use a mind like yours. There’s a place for you here.”

            Mohinder took in a slow breath. He was lying when he said he wasn’t sure why Mira called him; this could have been the only reason. “The thing is, Mira… I’m not sure that right now that’s such a good idea.” With Sylar on board? He wasn’t sure he could have an ex-girlfriend as a boss and a current boyfriend as a roommate in India and still maintain his sanity. He took a sip of his chai to distract himself.

            A short, humorless smile graced her lips, and Mira placed both hands around her coffee cup. “You know, that’s something you’ve always been good at, Mohinder.”

            He gave her a questioning look, tilting his head a little to the side.

            “Shutting me out.” Mira replied plainly, without any particular inflection. “But I don’t want that to be the reason you pass up a wonderful opportunity. Just hear me out first,” Mira insisted. She reached out and touched a hand to rest over his, skin soft, warm and inviting.

            But Mohinder felt nothing. Mira was reaching out, as a friend, as someone who was once a lover, trying to make an impact on his life, maybe even on his heart, to get what she wanted in a guileful way. But he felt nothing, this time. No heartstrings were being tugged. And for once, Mohinder understood why. A suddenly foolish feeling came over him, and he withdrew his hand to hold his cup. “Tell me about the job.”

            Mira’s smile faded a little, but she quickly pulled it back into place. “A little under a month ago a man came to India to work with our labs. There was a young boy, a boy who became very sick. A boy I think you knew. Sanjog Iyer.”

            Mohinder sat forward a little, releasing his drink. His brow drew together, interest piqued. “Sanjog? How did you find out about Sanjog?” He could feel his heart beating faster, tasting the same excitement he had when he discovered the hidden drawer of his father’s desk so long ago.

            “I spoke of him with Nirand,” Mira replied patiently. “Sanjog was sick. He was dying of some kind of virus. A new one, one that we couldn’t identify. When Nirand heard that our lab was working with the hospital to help him, he told me about your encounters with the boy. How you and your father thought he was one of the special individuals you were looking for.”

            Nodding quickly, Mohinder felt his hand give a small tremble of exhilaration, and gripped his cup tightly to stop it. “Nirand thought I was being ridiculous. But that boy was special. He had an ability. Was it Shanti’s virus?”

            Pursing her lips, Mira nodded slowly. “Nirand told me about your sister, Mohinder. And we brought in a top virologist from England, a man by the name of Sebastian Godard, to work with us…”

            “You tried to contact me…” Mohinder felt the breath escape his lungs. He had been on the road with Sylar, or maybe even in England already. He had been needed, and another person with an ability…

            “We couldn’t find you anywhere, Mohinder.” Mira shook her head. “We did all we could.”

            Mohinder’s shoulders fell slowly. “He died…? Sanjog died?” Mira nodded, expression solemn. Mohinder swallowed back the knot in his throat, shaking his head slowly. “I should have been here… I found the cure for the virus, Mira. I cured a girl, in New York. A girl with the abilities my father was searching for.” Mohinder pressed a hand over his face, taking in a deep breath. If he had been in India…

            But no. If he had been in India, Molly would have been the one to die. He couldn’t value one child’s life over another. What he understood fully now was just how important his research was. If the virus only affected individuals with abilities, and that number in itself was rising, Mohinder hadn’t the time to waste asking himself where he should be.

            “A cure? Proof of your father’s work?” Mira questioned, reaching across to touch his arm again. “We need your help here, Mohinder. We don’t know the first thing about this virus. Sebastian doesn’t have the background in your father’s research like you do. If you say they are connected… if you can help someone else…” She took in a breath, seeming to brace herself for the words to come. “What we want you to do is work for us, Mohinder. Work with Sebastian. Even if it isn’t proof of your father’s work, isn’t it enough that you could help classify your sister’s virus? We need you here.”

            “Here? In India?” Mohinder asked, looking to Mira’s pleading eyes.

            She seemed to understand his misgivings, and she smiled softly. “No, not here. Our company has a branch, in France. We’ve already sent Sebastian there to start work for us. Will you join him, Mohinder?”

            Turning the idea over and over in his head again, Mohinder found that no other path lay before him. He would be under the thumb of a company again, but one he knew not to be connected with _the_ company he’d fled from in the states. He had a chance to be in a lab again, and though the work he’d be doing wasn’t precisely what he hoped for, it was just as important. “If I do come to work for you… there will be a condition.”

            Mira leaned back in her chair, arching a delicate eyebrow to his words.

            “I’ll come and do your viral research… if you will give me access to your laboratories for my own research. For my father’s work. Unconditionally.”

            His challenge was met with a serious stare, and for the moment of silence that passed between them, Mohinder was sure it would end with her anger and cross words. Instead, he found a hand extended across the table, and small smile on her lips. “Welcome to the Genetics branch of Catalyst Labs, Dr. Suresh.”

            Mohinder gazed at the hand, then finally placed his own to it.

 

            By the time Mohinder’s feet brought him back to his home, the sun had long ago gone down, and all that was to be heard was the rustle of leaves through a cool Chennai night. He and Mira had talked for nearly three hours, discussing details and opportunities, dates and salaries. Before he’d even realized it, the hour was late, and he doubted his mother would still be awake when he returned.

            It had not taken Mohinder long to understand what it was that made it easy to talk to Mira now: professionalism. It came to his attention, this time around, that the soft eyes she cast in his direction, the smooth touches of her fingers to her hair, didn’t have the same hold on him as they once did. Even the last time he had been back in India he felt the tension of the relationship they had lost. Maybe he had even longed for it, for its comfort to set his mind at ease. But tonight was different. Mohinder had already filled that need with someone else, and what made talking with Mira easy was being able to consider her nothing but a colleague, now. They weren’t toying with ‘what if’s and ‘back when we were together’s.

            The reason for that comfort was behind a closed door. And Mohinder stood at the outside of it with his hands in his pockets. Sylar had been at the back of his mind this evening, unable to be pushed fully from it. The small smiles to Mira’s mild suggestiveness here and there had not been full of nostalgic yearning, but had been laced with thoughts of how amusing Sylar would find them, or how he might even be as jealous as he had been in London. Those were the moments during which Mohinder realized he needed to speak to Sylar, to make right the words that had been exchanged earlier.

            Placing his hand carefully on the knob of the door, Mohinder turned it painstakingly slow, unsure of whether or not the man within slept. He was met with darkness, or at least close enough to it that he could only barely make out the form on his side beneath the covers. Mohinder lingered for a full thirty seconds, listening for movement, waiting to see if Sylar would react. He did not. Mohinder let out a tiny, disappointed sigh, and leaned his head against the edge of the door, wondering if he’d have the nerve to do this in the morning.

            “You can come in.” Sylar’s voice spoke low, making Mohinder startle.

            “…I thought you were sleeping.”

            “I wasn’t.” Sylar turned over onto his back, squinting at the sliver of light from the cracked door that passed over his eyes. Mohinder remained where he was, but lifted his head, arms crossing loosely over his chest. He seemed to give a brief glance to the hall, but he did not speak or move from his spot. He merely contemplated. “Come in, Mohinder.” Sylar finally ordered.

            The man’s lips twisted into some hesitantly stubborn expression, and finally Mohinder entered, shutting the door behind him. He walked over to the bed, sitting down on the side of it and resting his elbows on his knees, not facing Sylar. Mohinder felt thankful for the cover of darkness now. Sylar wouldn’t be able to see the struggling expression on his face as he formulated what he wanted to say. And Sylar waited in silence for him to do just that.

            “I’m sorry,” Mohinder finally managed, head bowed and fingers caught up in one another. “I… shouldn’t have treated you the way I did. You were right. It was unfair.” He took in a slow breath, imagining that Sylar was listening to the way his heart raced with those difficult words. It was almost as difficult for Mohinder to forgive Sylar’s earlier actions as it was for him to apologize for his own.

            Sylar watched Mohinder’s shadowed back, folding his arms behind his head against his pillow. Sylar had spent his evening reading in the library and thinking about the situation, too. Trying to find words that felt proper, since he knew that on the spot his words failed and turned to anger much of the time. “I don’t know exactly what it is you think we have. And I’m not looking for labels myself… but it’s real, Mohinder. This isn’t just some passing dream or nightmare anymore.” It wasn’t a game, he had come to recognize. For a long time, Sylar had wanted to think it was— for his own sake, for the sake of self-preservation— but somewhere along the way, the reality of the situation hit him hard, and he couldn’t deny the truth any longer. It would be against their natures.

            Mohinder tensed at those words; the idea that they were ‘serious’ still made him feel uncomfortable to hear out loud, to hear from Sylar’s lips so naturally. He tried to find his own words, but once again saw his weakness in this department. It had been the same with Mira, much of the time. Mohinder could never talk about his feelings, but they could talk theory for hours without pause.

            Suddenly Sylar was patting the mattress next to him. “Lay down,” he requested simply.

            Mohinder obliged, thankful for the distraction. He laid back against soft sheets and rested his hands over his abdomen, staring up at the ceiling. “You know, we’ve been together for over a month, and we still can barely talk to one another.”

            Sylar joined him, staring above at nothing, shoulder to shoulder with the man. A sly look dared cross his lips. “What can I say? We’re at our best when we don’t need to talk.”

            Mohinder gave Sylar a little shove with his shoulder, but couldn’t help but feel a little amused himself. “Very funny. But I’m being serious.”

            “I know you are,” Sylar replied calmly. “But you know, when we need to talk, we’ll find a way. If we force ourselves all the time, we’ll just get angry at each other anyway. Neither of us are the type to talk about feelings.”

            They both paused, then, as the unasked question ‘And what _are_ your feelings?’ passed through the silence, gnawing at the mask of darkness. But it was a question whose answer alarmed each of them too powerfully to get asked this early. The question of what they were to each other… today had proven this was a volatile question best left unspoken for now, but still respected. Even the past shouldn’t bear too much weight on it.

            Mohinder took in a deep breath, feeling weary, all of the sudden “Back when we met with Bennet in Iowa… I wish… I’d gotten a little longer with the Haitian there.”

            “Why?”

            “I’d have gotten another moment with you when you were just a man,” Mohinder said softly.

            “…That’s all I am.” –was the quiet reply.

            Sylar waited, silent, for Mohinder to voice his thoughts. He waited for Mohinder to agree or disagree, maybe even argue with him on that point, despite the rules he’d established about Sylar not using his abilities in public or on him, about being as level with a normal man as possible.

            But all Sylar could do was listen and wait, and finally Mohinder’s breathing had evened and deepened. Sylar was left with that statement dangling above him in the darkness like a most dangerous dream. He lay back against the cool sheets, arms folding again behind his head. Somehow he felt satisfied.

            As he closed his eyes, too, and let his ears stretch beyond himself, Sylar felt at ease with the wave of noises that fell upon him. Amid a sea of unfamiliar tongues and soft vowels, he let himself drift, carried on the crests of rhythmic whispers and hypnotic, hushed conversations. He didn’t understand a word. It didn’t bother him a bit.


End file.
